


Just a Little Rest

by littlefallenseraph



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, pre-plague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 04:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17822057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefallenseraph/pseuds/littlefallenseraph
Summary: Exhausted from trying to find a cure for the plague, Julian and his apprentice go for a walk and discover a local tea shop.--Gets a little spicy at the end--





	Just a Little Rest

This was an all-too-frequent occurrence: you walked into Ilya’s office to present him with a report only to find him drooling all over his notes, fast asleep. Amused, you tip-toe into the room and allow the paper to flutter quietly onto the top of his stack. You shake your head at the pile—it seems to be doubling in size every day. More people getting sick, more leads to follow up on, more medical journals, more arcane tomes. And then still at the end of the day more people getting sick. No wonder he’s so tired.

As you watch him, chest rising and falling, you have to admit you find him inspirational. He works so tirelessly, and for those he doesn’t even know. He could just as easily have left when things got bad when the plague was first starting to consume Vesuvia and there was a small chance at escape. Others did. Asra did. And though you can’t blame them for their choice there’s something heroic and selfless about him staying behind the way he did.

You sneak out and return with a blanket. You’ve learned to keep one handy for situations just like this when the burden gets too heavy and he falls asleep trying to solve other people’s problems. Draping the blanket over his shoulders, you place a feather-light kiss on his forehead. “Sleep well, my love,” you say. However, when you turn to leave, a gentle tug on your sleeve holds you back.

* * *

A groggy voice mumbles, “No, wait.”

“Ilya, you need the sleep,” you whisper.

The grip grows stronger as he rouses, using the other hand to wipe the dribble from his face. “Wait—” he yawns and takes the opportunity to stand and stretch. “Can’t we just go for a walk instead? That’ll be enough rest,” he pulls you into him and wraps his arms around your waist, “Plus I’d like to spend some time with you.”

Your hands reach up to cradle his face and you sigh. “We haven’t had much time off recently, have we?” He shakes his head in response—no you have most certainly not. You laugh and give in, “Okay fine, a quick walk. But then you should go home and sleep, okay?” You stare into his eyes and know he won’t, but you like to convince yourself he’ll listen to you someday.

* * *

Despite the city’s suffering as of late, the weather is clear and the market is lively. You walk arm-in-arm with Ilya down the Vesuvian streets, taking in sights and smells. He insists you drop into a couple shops to look at alchemical ingredients, potions, spellbooks. You chuckle. After this is all over you might have to think about teaching him a thing or two about magic. _He’d like that_ , you think.

You finally make your way to the outskirts of the city. Here, things are a little dimmer and drab. There are fewer people roaming around; nevertheless, your companion nods and smiles to every passerby. He escorts you down a small flight of stairs and into another shop. This one smells of exquisite spices and herbs and you find yourself following your nose around to as many jars as you can get your hands on. You open them one by one, smell them, and then pass them on to Ilya to do the same.

A frail man hobbles out from behind a counter, “Hello, dears. Can I help you find anything?”

Naturally, Ilya whisks you in his direction, flashing a smile to the old man. “Do you have any teas here,” he asks, “My love seems to have an obsession with the stuff and I confess it’s beginning to grow on me.”

The man nods and slowly makes his way back behind the counter. “Of course, please allow me to make you some. Do you have anything, in particular, you’re looking for?” He pulls a kettle off a shelf and conjures up a small flame.

“Surprise us,” Ilya answers confidently.

Another nod from the man and he gestures you to a curtained sitting room, “Please have a seat, I’ll bring you your tea when it’s ready.”

Ilya guides you to a small booth at the back of the sitting area. Luxurious red curtains adorn the walls and the cushions are delightfully soft. He settles in before you and offers you a seat right next to him. When you oblige, he wraps an arm around you and nuzzles into your neck. “Thank you for coming out with me.”

You turn your face to give him a kiss on the forehead. “Was it everything you needed?”

He hums, pleased and then lifts his head. “Almost everything,” he whispers, then brings his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet, and he lingers longer than usual, allowing himself to be swallowed up by the burning heat that climbs up onto his neck, face, and ears. When he pulls back you giggle, he blushes so easily. “Oh stop,” his blush deepens, “You know I can’t resist you.”

Raising your eyebrows you allow your hand to wander up his leg onto his upper thigh. With every inch, he displays a new shade of red until you’re convinced he’s actually turned into a cherry. Eyes half-lidded, he bites his lip and suppresses a groan. “Oh,” you tease, “do you want me to stop?”

When you try to move your hand away he catches it, squeezing your fingers and moving them to the place he really wants you. He begs you without asking, eyes pleading with you, “Please,” they say.

You adjust your seat, turning towards him just enough to catch his earlobe between your teeth. A low purr rumbles in his chest and he takes a deep breath, squeezing your shoulder with his other hand as his hips twitch. Your lips move to his neck and—

“Tea’s ready!” the old man shuffles in, tea tray clattering with the kettle and cups.

You jump up, “Please, allow me!” You relieve the man of the tray and thank him with a glowing smile, “What do we owe you?’

“Oh, not a thing, dearie. Please just take this as a thank you for all you’re doing to help the city.”

“How did you—?” you stutter.

He laughs and waves to Ilya, “I’d recognize that fiery red hair anywhere.”

When you turn back, your lover is looking positively indecent. His face, ears, and neck are all red. His legs are crossed and his hand covers his mouth to keep his voice contained.

You’re going to have to fix that later.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from tumblr--if you'd like to make a request visit me at littlefallenseraph and I'd be happy to write something!


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